


The Unintended Consequences of Yearning

by Lucient



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Breathplay, CFNM, Cum Play, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, Sex Magic, TBA - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucient/pseuds/Lucient
Summary: Voldemort has returned. Umbridge tightens her grip on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry Potter is frustrated, feeling more helpless than ever before; he needs a weapon, so he asks his best friend, Hermione Granger, for help.Reluctantly, she agrees, but her recommendation is far from what Harry had in mind...
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 33
Kudos: 93





	1. Bad Dreams and Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> World-building and plot chapter. Smut begins in the second chapter. There is, however, very little plot; this is a smut story. The plot exists to power the smut. I should probably explain what this is here - or at least, where it's going. I don't want to spoil all the kinks involved etc. To summarise, this is a smut story where Harry and Hermione work together in some... perverse fashions to achieve their shared goal. I think that's enough; continuing on and on would be boring.
> 
> PS. I'm not going to spoil the kinks included before the chapters beginning. If you want to know beforehand if there is anything you want to avoid, check the spoilers chatper.

"Reparo," Harry muttered, point his wand at the broken pieces of china. They flew back together, good as new, but there was no returning the Murtlap essence to the bowl. For a long moment he watched the firelight catch the curve of the bowl's lip and sighed, feeling suddenly tired. Hermione had no right to ask him to teach anyone anything - Merlin, he could barely keep up himself! Snape was running him ragged, and Umbridge's detentions further limited his time. But as he snuggled into the squishy armchair, his mind drifting away, a treacherous voice told him otherwise. Against Voldemort, they all needed help. They needed a weapon...

Hermione made no mention of Harry giving Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, and for a while Harry thought nothing about it. Harry's detentions were over; Ron was settling into the Quidditch team, and they'd both finally caught up on their homework. But not all was well. The dreams kept returning, and everytime they did Harry would think the same thought, mull over it, then discard it as silly. As something Dumbledore would have a handle on.

'But Dumbledore isn't talking to me,' he reminded himself, painfully, 'and he's busy, he must be, organising the Order of the Phoenix.' The thought of the clandestine organisation, warriors for the light, sent a needle of shame and longing down his spine. Why wasn't he one of them already? Did Dumbledore not trust him?

As he looked up from his lunch, watching the clouds drift across the false ceiling, Harry decided, in a whim of youthful eagerness, that he would earn the Headmaster's trust. 'And to do that...'

"Hermione," he suddenly said, quite out of the blue, "could you help me... with my broom? I think one of the enchantments is failing."

Hermione blinked owlishly, her deep brown eyes surprised. Then they narrowed; Harry knew he had not been subtle - the excuse was clear in his voice, as well as the way he'd glanced at Ron, who was debating rather too fervently with Dean about the qualities of their respective Quidditch teams.

"Okay," she said, glancing at Ron herself. "Now?"

Harry looked at his half empty plate. Voldemort was more important than cold meats and bread, freshly baked by the house elves though it was. "Okay."

And so they left together, Harry in something of a hurry, Hermione trailing behind him, looking bemused. "I'll meet you at Charms," Harry said to Ron as they passed his seat. Ron did not even notice him; by now, he and Dean were almost shouting. Which, Harry thought, was rather odd, as Dean preferred football to Quidditch.

****

It was a cool autumn day, and both Harry and Hermione were happy to climb the stairs of the boy's dormitories, knowing the warmth it would afford. They had not spoken since they left the Great Hall; Harry was feeling increasingly nervous with every step, wondering at what his friend's reaction to his proposition might be. They could've stopped in the Gryffindor common room; it was, unusually, entirely empty, even of NEWT students, but the isolation of the 5th year boy's dormitories was even better.

Hermione closed the door with a muted thud, and turned to look inquisitively at Harry, who was sitting on his bed, creasing his red and gold quilt. Harry shivered under her gaze; her eyes were so bright, so alive, that he sometimes wondered if she knew what he was going to say before he did.

He cast the thought away, and cleared his throat into the silence. "Well," he said, "I've been thinking... about what you said, about Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"And?" Hermione prompted, taking a seat across from him; he could see the shadow of a pleased smile on her face, the beginnings of enthusiasm.

Harry felt almost bad about what he was going to say. "And I'm not sure I can do it. But... but I have been thinking. Voldemort-" Hermione still flinched slightly at the name, "-is looking for something, yeah? A weapon?"

He could've kicked himself, with how unsure he sounded. This was not a good pitch; but Hermione nodded along, and Harry felt emboldened enough to continue. "We should have a weapon too. We're going to have to fight Death Eaters with schoolyard jinxes - for our own sakes, it can't be done. If we could find..." He searched for a word but could not find it; he'd spent so much time thinking about a weapon, he'd not thought about what it might actually look like. "If we could just find something to help us, some trick - we're so young compared to them, we need an edge."

"Harry..." Hermione began, and Harry knew that was a bad sign, "Dumbledore has probably thought of this. I can't find something he can't."

Dumbledore. The name rang in his blood, but he kept his temper; he knew just how much Hermione looked up to him. He knew it because he felt the same. "Dumbledore's busy," he said. "The Prophet might print a load of old nonsense, but there is truth in that he's had a lot on his plate. All those titles, all those committees... He can't have read every book in the Restricted Section."

That made Hermione's ears perk up. "The Restricted Section?"

"I'll let you borrow my cloak," Harry hastily offered.

Hermione bit her lip, clearly torn. "Fine," she eventually said, "I'll look. But only for two weeks. After two weeks, if I've not found anything, you'll start teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Deal?"

Harry looked at her outstretched hand and clasped it. "Deal."

He did not know what sort of deal he had just made.

*****

Almost two weeks had passed since they'd spoken in the dormitories, and Harry had almost forgotten it had ever happened. Blessedly, his dreams of late had been, well, only dreams. Some he could not remember; some he could. Most were inane - playing Quidditch, or gobstones. A few were strange, like being chased by a giant purple toad. But no more did he dream of the dark corridors, and he slept better for it; nor did his scar twitch, and his temper receded.

A few times he noticed that Hermione seemed distracted; she would look at him with a strange expression on her face, and quickly look away when he looked back, burying herself in a small black book she was often found reading. Worry, he put it down to - worry about him. Ron too was beginning to get worried; the first game of the Quidditch season was rapidly approaching, and his nerves were already snapping.

Only when he found a note hidden in his Charms book did their conversation come rushing back to him, and with it came the rush of excitement, and apprehension. 'She's found something!' he thought, stuffing the note into his trouser pocket. He could not forget its contents, though they did bemuse him. 'Go to the seventh floor, find the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet and walk beside it three times.'

It was a bizarre request, as he knew of no abandoned classrooms nearby, and why did he have to pace up and down the corridor? It didn't matter; he trusted Hermione and so he made some excuse to Ron and strode off, barely stopping himself from running. Umbridge would use that opportunity to put him in detention for another week if she saw.

The seventh floor was little used; the corridors were empty of all but suits of armour. Only the portraits moved. It was, Harry decided, a bit creepy. Feeling somehow watched, he paced silently up and down the tapestry, and watched, amazed, as a big door grew out of the opposite corridor. When he'd picked his jaw from the floor, he took a long look down the corridor, checking that he was alone. He was, and so he quickly opened the door, feeling as though he'd passed into somewhere else, shutting it with a muffled thud.

Inside was a copy of the Gryffindor common room; full of squishy armchairs, old oak tables and centered around a roaring fire. Beside it, Hermione sat in one said chair, waiting. Her eyes lit up as she saw him. "Harry!" she called out; but then her face fell, very suddenly, as though she'd seen something terrible.

"Hermione," Harry breathed, seemingly for the first time in a while, "what is this place?"

"The Room of Requirement," Hermione answered brightly. "It's hidden; you can only use it by pacing up and down the corridor."

Harry sat on the squishy red armchair opposite her, still swiveling his head around the room as though it'd disappear if he stopped looking at it. "And why does it look like the Gryffindor common room?"

"Because I asked it to." Hermione seemed very excited to reveal this incredible room to him, and Harry was amazed... But then he saw her face fall, and felt the beginnings of anxiety wash over him as she continued; "I thought the familiar backdrop might, erm, soothe you?"

In her lap was the same black book she had been reading. Suddenly, Harry could not take his eyes off it. "Why?" His gaze finally flicked out, meeting her deep brown eyes. "Is something wrong? I thought you'd found something to use against Voldemort?"

"I have." Hermione's fingers drew, unconsciously, down the spine of the book. Her brow wrinkled, a familiar expression which Harry knew meant she was thinking very hard. Which meant she was worried. "It's... complicated," she continued. "I... let me explain in full.

"I found almost nothing for the first week - spells we couldn't use, and dark spells we shouldn't use. Stuff well beyond our capability. We just don't have the background knowledge, the theory, to cast them, and I don't have the raw power, either. I almost gave up, until I found this." She patted the little black book, which seemed every moment more ominous.

"It's a compendium of rare magic - categorised by Grintolde's, it'd be a book of enhancement magic. As you know, most serious enhancement magic is found in rituals, most of which are illegal - the spells in this book, the Vitalitas, aren't illegal though," she hastily added. "They're too old to be illegal, and too obscure. No one knows they exist, but they're not evil, either, just... odd."

Harry had listened quietly, trying to keep up with his bushy-haired friend's increasingly rapid explanation. She was speaking as though he was going to interrupt at any moment, but he could not tell why. "Odd? What's odd about them?"

Hermione blushed red, from her forehead all the way down to her slender neck, turning her pale skin flush. "Erm, well..." Her eyes turned down, and she bit her lip once more, clearly uncomfortable. "They're... they're all potion-rituals, involving the mixing of a potion and enchanting of that potion through a ritual. That's not weird; they're the safest, cleanest kind of rituals, but it's the ingredients that are weird. You see, they are all require, that is to say, they are all centered around, that is... that is, they all usespermasatheprimaryingredient."

Harry blinked, confused. He had not heard what Hermione was so embarrassed about, what had caused her to stare at her lap. "They use what?"

"Ugh..." she groaned, and the set of her jaw changed. She looked up, glaring at him, suddenly angry. "They use sperm, okay! Don't make me say it again! Male sperm, you know, that kind!"

Now it was Harry's turn to blush. He felt warmth burst on his cheeks, surely turning him bright red. Hermione was looking at that? She'd been reading about... that for a week? And now, she wanted... she wanted...

The thought of a returned Voldemort passed through his head, with him incapable of fighting him. "Okay," he eventually replied, after taking a deep breath, "what do these rituals do?"

Back on an even keel, Hermione answered calmly, almost coolly. "They temporarily increase the capacity for learning in the woman - and it only works for women - who drinks the resultant potion, along with a very, very minor boost in magical strength. Taken consistently, I should be able to learn spells at a rapid rate. Then, I can teach you them - I can even teach you spells that are beyond my power to cast, though it'll take longer, I think."

"Oh," said Harry, somewhat disappointed that the potion wouldn't work on him. But then he perked up. "What do you mean, 'I can even teach you spells that are beyond my power to cast'?"

Hermione barely stopped herself rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on Harry! Surely you've noticed that you're easily the most powerful student in the school? Casting a Patronus isn't just difficult because it's complex; it's difficult because it requires power. Plenty of adults can't cast a Patronus - you did it in your third year. You're more powerful than most of the teachers, I would imagine. That's... that's partially why I need you, anyway, to give me, erm, you know.

"Because the rituals require powerful ingredients to work. Robust ingredients - you know, the Helena's robustness scale? Basics of Potion-Making, Chapter II. 'Ingredients are superior in robustness, that is power, when harvested themselves, and when at their greatest moon.'" In this case, the more powerful the wizard, the more magically useful his, er, stuff."

"Ah," said Harry. This time, he was just mortified. "So... I just have to, er, give you a vial of, you know, and that's it?"

Silently, Hermione nodded, blushing red once more.

*****

Hermione left the Room of Requirement swiftly thereafter, leaving Harry to commence his work. He was quick about it, wondering what Hermione would think if he took too long. Handily, she had provided him a goblet for the task. He could not, of course, refrain himself from thinking about her when he was doing his duty, and he felt cold shame wash over him once the deed was done. Harry then departed soon after, leaving the goblet on the table, where only Hermione could find it.

His dreams that night, to say the least, were rather wild.

* * *

**The first section (some of the first paragraph) is directly lifted from the Goblet of Fire. I don't know precisely where I'll take this; it was written fairly quickly, for no particular reason except my own curiousity, in a fairly slap-dash manner. I might milk this fic for all I can, making two or three alternative versions. I might leave it and never touch it again. I haven't really decided. This has already been posted on Hentai Foundry, if you're wondering why this feels familiar. I just had to wait for the email to come through.  
**


	2. First Attempts

Harry knew it'd take four days to see any results, and he had other things to do, but he couldn't keep his mind off the potion, regardless. Off the potion... and off Hermione drinking it. The image of her tipping back some bubbling liquid, white and creamy, into her mouth and down her throat sent thrills through him; he knew the potion would be diluted, and that it certainly wouldn't have the consistency, taste or colour of sperm, but he couldn't help but think of his best female friend drinking his cum.

More than once he'd been caught staring at nothing, thinking about it. Ron was looking at him weirdly now, as even he'd picked up a pattern. Such it was that he ate lunch with such speed on the fourth day, setting off almost at a run to the Room of Requirement. Now, he thought, the fight-back against Voldemort could begin.

Barely checking to see if the corridor was clear, he paced impatiently by the tapestry of Barnabus; he pulled the door open with such strength that he felt it might off its hinges. He had, at least, the prescience not to slam it, however. Hermione was already waiting for him in the copy of the Gryffindor common room.

Sitting in a familiar squat armchair, her face was impassive. Harry didn't notice. "How was it?" he said, almost bounding up to her, such was his excitement. "Did it work?"

"Well yes," Hermione began stiffly, "and no."

"Yes and no?"

"The potion did settle to the correct boundaries yes. The colour was perhaps a shade off, but it shouldn't matter much... The effectiveness though, that was the issue. I took it, felt a burst of energy, then, nothing. Perhaps there were some minor effects, but if there were I couldn't tell."

"Dammit. So what does this mean? Back to the drawing board?"

"No... We, er, we can still carry on. Remember the Basics of Potion-Making, Chapter II?"

Harry's eyes widened almost comically.

"Please tell me you want me to try again at the full moon?"

"I don't think, in this case, that'll make a difference..." Hermione stared down at her shoes. "The only way we can improve the potency of the potion is by improving the robustness of the ingredients, and the only way to do that is for the potioneer, me, to, er, harvest them myself. The base ingredient most of all... If you don't want to do it, I understand, it's a big thing I'm proposing."

"You mean, um..." Harry felt like his heart was in his ears; his blood was pumping like a firehose. "I'm sorry Hermione," he eventually said, "I can't do it. I'll do anything for you, and you're always my friend, my best friend, but I can't do this."

"I understand." Hermione looked away, deeply embarrassed, "I'm sorry for asking you."

Then she stood, hefted the book and ran past Harry, her head bowed, leaving a sharp gust of wind in her wake.

*****

The corridor spun a dark shadow before him, leaving Harry blind. He groped in the darkness, but found nothing. The walls slipped away as he found them. After a time his legs began to move by themselves, taking him further, further into the darkness. He could not stop; he wanted to stop. Needed to stop; something terrible was lurking, lurking in the shadow.

A shape appeared in the darkness; two eyes, then a nose, and ruffled hair. "Why couldn't you save me?" he said - Cedric said. His flesh was pale, his extremities rotting. A clammy hand grasped his arm, digging into his skin. "You failed Harry. You've failed everything. Look at me. Look at me and see your future!"

And then another, darker voice. "Harry Potter..."

Harry screamed, launching himself out of bed. The bed curtains caught him, and he flopped back onto the sheets. His scar ached fiercely. "Bloody hell," he said, glad that he'd put an anti-sound charm around his bed the night before, else he would've woken everyone up. That would require some explaining.

"What a nightmare." He thought back and corrected himself. "Not a nightmare. The truth." The words set a stone in his gut, but he spoke them anyway. Laying in his bed, trapped in Umbridge's web, without the Headmaster to help him, he'd never felt so powerless. "But I don't have to be," he whispered. Hermione's face appeared before him. Could he really do it? He thought of the power it offered, the edge. Long years separated him and Tom, but the gap in skill needn't be so large...

Frustrated, his righted himself. "I'm going to do it," he told himself firmly. "I'm going to pass a note to Hermione during lunch, and we'll meet after classes."

And, miraculously, he did.

*****

She was waiting for him in the same squishy armchair as last time, biting her lip once more. Nervous. 'No more so than me,' Harry thought. "Hermione," he greeted quietly.

"So you've changed your mind then?"

Harry paused, watching his best friend closely. She seemed almost... expectant. Impatient? "I... I have. How are we, how are we going to, you know?"

"Well... I've been thinking this over and we're going to treat it like, like a medical procedure. I have this goblet." She gestured to a bronze cup on the table beside her, that Harry had thought just a cup. "It's a Malence goblet. It collects magically powerful excretions without damaging their purity. It's usually used for plant juices and such like, but this time... well. All I have to do is make you, make you ejaculate near the cup, and it'll draw it in for use."

Harry nodded along slowly. Hearing Hermione talk about this was so bizarre; he felt like he was in a strange dream, and he was looking down at his own body. Everything felt numb. "Okay... so, um, okay?" What did he do now?

"Right." Hermione straightened, looking strangely pleased. She made her face carefully neutral, and her tone changed. "No time like the present then," she said; Harry almost jumped. She sounded like a nurse, or a matron in an old film. "Trousers and pants off."

Harry swallowed, his hands trembling. This, he decided, was better than the alternative... _It's just like a medical procedure_ , he reminded himself. _Nothing to be afraid of._

He did not dare to think that his best friend would be seeing him exposed and would masturbate him until completion, until he was vulnerable...

Slowly, he hooked his thumbs under his trousers, finding his pants too, deciding there was no need to double the pain, and pulled. They came down easily to his ankles, and Harry felt the immediate urge to close his legs. He didn't, knowing it would be a useless gesture. His skin prickled with the cold; he felt a breeze breathe up his legs and all the way to his bum. Initially he met Hermione's eyes, but soon found that impossible, his cheeks reddening rapidly.

He felt Hermione sweep her gaze down and shivered, following her eyes. His legs were pale under the light, his penis flaccid, nestled over a sparse covering of black hair. It too was pale, his other head still covered by foreskin. His testicles remained hidden, dropping behind his thighs, not that it really made him feel better. As it was, he shivered; to his eyes he looked embarrassingly small.

He watched Hermione watch him for a long moment, her delicate cheeks dusting with red, her brown eyes staring. "Okay," she said, almost soothingly, "stand up."

Eager to leave the chair behind, as the feel of fabric on his bare bottom made him nauseous, he stood, his bollocks revealing themselves, his sack drooping down. Hermione too stood up, still fully clothed in her Hogwarts uniform, placing the Malence goblet underneath him.

"I'm going to start now," she said quietly, reaching for his crotch. Harry felt the urge to shy away - an urge which, considering he still had his trousers around his ankles, would have only resulted in him falling over, he was happy to resist. She grasped his penis in a cold hand, and Harry gasped, looking down disbelievingly. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, covering all but the head; fireworks went off in Harry's head. _Merlin Merlin Merlin - Oh, oh my God!_

For a moment he looked up, meeting his best friend's chocolate brown eyes, realising just how exposed he was. Hermione had him in her grasp. And then, she began to move, placing herself to his side, almost behind him, like she was aiming his member; slowly, ever so slowly, she started moving, stroking up and down and up and down. Her grip was light, giving him space to engorge, until he was as hard as a rock.

Pleasure surged up through his cock, up his hips and into his spine. "Oh, Merlin," he could not help but gasp out. Hermione's hand felt so, so good. So much better than his own. He felt her breath hitch for a moment, and she stopped. At once Harry began to subtly thrust his hips, trying to get some wonderful friction from her smooth, delicate hand.

He needn't have; and Hermione did not comment on his eagerness, for she soon began to stroke him in earnest, shuttling her hand back and forth at pace. "There we go," she said. Her voice was still professional, but it lit Harry's veins on fire - he really was getting jerked off by someone else! "Please last as long as you can. The longer you last, the more robust the sample will be."

But Harry was barely listening to that; pleasure surged through his mind, driving him onwards. Fap fap fap came the sound; precum had already leaked on Hermione's hand, reducing the friction markedly. Harry grunted, frustrated; he wanted friction, driving his hips forward, humping her like a dog. He felt Hermione huff behind him, her breath tickling his neck. "Oh god!" he groaned. Something about that had set a spark off in him; he felt his legs tense, then his arms, then his neck, then his hips. "Oh, oh, I-" He felt he should give a warning, but his words were turning to mush in his mouth. Heat flooded his belly.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!"

With one last groan, near a scream, he felt himself tip over the edge; Hermione's hand pumped like a machine, faster and faster, and joy overtook him. He closed his eyes, feeling like he'd been hit with a sledgehammer of ecstasy. Cum splattered from his reddened head in bursts, leaving his spine arched, his mouth open, groaning silently. The first load must've travelled four feet, splattering wetly on the red carpet, but it did not end there. His orgasm rushed through him; another, and another, and another spurt sent his hips bucking. All the while Hermione did not stop masturbating him, following him through his haze of pleasure until the last drops sputtered onto his trousers.

Only then did she let go of his soft penis, and Harry let himself fall back onto the armchair. He felt himself panting, his mind wandering in that post-orgasmic space.

Hermione coughed; slowly, Harry cracked open an eye. She was looking at him, annoyed, almost disdainfully. He quickly pulled up his pants, then his trousers, his bliss thoroughly ruined. The inner material stuck uncomfortably to his genitals.

Harry blinked. "What?"


	3. Success?

"That didn't take long," Hermione sniffed, looking down at Harry's sperm which was, seemingly by its own power, collecting into the goblet.

Harry struggled to restrain his blush, glad that she was looking away. What else did she expect? "It doesn't have to last, does it?" he said, hoping to imply he'd just let himself go.

But Hermione eyed him knowingly. "It's a matter of robustness, as I told you before," she said in rebuking tone of voice Harry recognised from when he'd failed to complete his homework. Or when he'd forgotten about it entirely. Or when he'd slept in late. "The keener the emotional state, the better the sample. The Basics-"

"-I know, I know," he cut in. Hermione frowned, displeased with the interruption, but he continued before she could pick up steam. "Ingredients are superior in robustness, that is power, when harvested themselves, and when at their greatest moon," he quoted. "And apparently, when this involves humans, the, er, emotionality? Is that the right word? The emotionality during the, er, extraction also matters."

"That's an interesting way to put it," Hermione said shortly, "but yes, and I don't think your peak was tall enough."

Harry blinked. _Was that an insult, or not? I'm not sure myself._ "How can you tell?"

In response, she practically ripped open her new favourite book, clearly searching for a particular fashion. Harry could not help but follow her slim finger down the pages, recalling it wrapped around his cock. He felt a twitch in his pants, but was distracted by Hermione's 'ah!'.

She pulled out her wand and pointed at the goblet. " _Metiretur_ ," she announced. A green spark flashed on the tip of her wand. Hermione held it up to her face, watched it flare, then die. "Hmm, I was right. We're going to have to do it again.”

Harry tried to stop himself from rolling his eyes; he was not surprised, as he knew the ritual was temporary anyway, lasting only a week once ingested. "Okay then," he acquiesced. "Can I at least read the book before we do it again?"

"No," said Hermione, not even seeming to be interested. She was busy vanishing his load from the goblet.

"Why not?"

"Because it's enchanted to be unreadable for men," she finally explained, turning her attention back to Harry. "A joke, I believe, from one of the previous owners, not the author herself. Don't worry, you're not missing anything - it's a terrible read. The standard translation spells barely work, and it's quite cryptic anyway."

Harry begged to differ. "Who is the author, then?"

"Miriam Magister."

In her voice Harry detected no little amount of admiration - it was the same way she'd spoken about Dumbledore, all those years ago on the train. I'll remember that name, he thought, deciding that he'd try and find it in one of Hogwart's many glossaries and reference books. Then he realised he had not replied, and cleared his throat. "She must have been one hell of a witch," he said, standing. "Well, tomorrow, then?"

Hermione looked at him as though he were a fool. "No, now." From her cloak she pulled out a vial. "A potion, to, um, help you... recover."

The liquid inside was green and dark. Harry eyed it suspiciously. "Won't that interfere with the purity of the, well, you know?" He thought it was a good excuse.

"No," Hermione groaned, annoyed. Her hair seemed to be getting even frizzier. "It's a recipe from the book, designed to work with the ritual, not against it."

 _Damn_. Last time had been embarrassing; he wanted at least a day before he'd... he sighed. "Okay then," he gave in, practically snatching the potion from her hand. He drank it one go. It was tasteless, but immediately he felt his nether regions spring to life.

Hermione withdrew, looking hurt before she straightened herself. "Trousers and pants off," she repeated, almost barking the order this time. "Fully off. And your shirt, for that matter. If it touches the magically enchanced fabric, the sample is ruined." Harry must have looked like a dear in the headlights, so Hermione soften her tone, albeit a little bit. "Remember, it's only a medical procedure. Like going to the dentist."

Harry had never been to the dentist, but he knew it was not this humiliating. Even so, he pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his slight chest to Hermione's brown-eyed gaze. He shivered, though it was not cold, feeling her eyes rake his stomach. He steeled himself; and, slowly, painfully, he pulled down his pants and trousers once more, kicking them off entirely. His erect penis sprung up like a small and flexible tree branch.

His bare feet dug until the soft carpet, and Harry had never more felt the temptation to cover up. He was naked now, entirely bare, without a stitch of cloth on him. From his toes to his lean calves, from his slender stomach to his slight neck, and everything in between, everything was available for Hermione to peruse.

And he watched her do it, her dark brown eyes sliding up from his feet, centering on his exposed crotch, his erect penis caressing his belly, all the way his nipples, hardening in the open air. He saw something in her expression, some glint in her eye, but it was quickly gone, and 'Hermione the nurse' returned.

"Good," she said, standing herself, drawing closer with a swish of her dark school cloak.

Harry shivered once more, dreadfully embarrassed; his neck burned red. In the stillness the crumpling of the fabric of her clothes underlined just how exposed he was. He felt as though he were some sort of display for Hermione to be entertained by. _It's a silly thought_ , he told himself.

But all his thoughts vanished when Hermione grasped his cock once more. He tensed, his muscles straining, and a small breath left him. It was too close to a breathy moan for his likely. Her hand was cool, and as she stroked Harry felt her annoyance through their connection, through her fist shuttling up and down on his cock, as she was rather rough this time round. More than once he lost his footing, being pulled a step forward or backward by Hermione's harsh, tight grip. Soon his back had gone from being ram-rod straight to being bent so that he might more comfortably react his Hermione's manipulation.

Like this she was taller than him, her head looking over his shoulder, here clothed body brushing against his, sending his skin afire. She was watching, he knew, watching his cock over his shoulder, and feeling him lose his mind the pleasure as she masturbated him.

"Oh, Merlin!" He tried to bite his lip to stop the moans from escaping, but failed. "Oh, _Merlin Merlin Merlin_."

Slowly, his hips began to hump, and he hissed, feeling his foreskin stretch further from Hermione's harsh treatment than he would've liked. The pricks of pain sent him reeling into orgasm. "Oh, fuck, God, oh!"

Later he would blush at his noisiness, but for now he was taken, rent open by his best friend's hand, vulnerable for her to see inside his soul. He felt the familiar pulsing, the itch inside his testicles. Oh God _it's coming it's coming it's coming_. He threw his head by and let out a soundless cry.

And then... nothing. His cry turned strangled; he looked down, and saw that Hermione had cruelly removed her hand, resting it teasingly on his hip. He felt his orgasm dispersing, the wonderful sensation fading into painful absence. "No!" he said, "Please Hermione, please carry on!"

"Why?" came Hermione's dispassionate voice, her breath tickling his ear. "So you can have your orgasm and ruin the plan again? Just a little while longer and it'll be enough."

Just a little while longer. Harry held onto the thought as she lightly caressed his reddened shaft once more. Once she was sure he would not ejaculate again, she slowly began to pump her hand, this time twisting her wrist ever so slightly with each movement. The green-eyed boy breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing into her grip, leaning into her clothed form. The cotton of her shirt caressed his back. His legs seemed like jelly; no longer did he wish to move his hips. And, as sure as day, his balls began to bubble once more; the mounting ecstasy returned even greater than before. This time he said nothing, but he could not withhold the needy groans and humiliating moans Hermione's pumping hand forced from his lips. Still his orgasm drew closer, ripping a long and heady cry from his lungs... Harry readied himself, his body tensing.

"No you're not," Hermione whispered; and she took her hand away from his cock.

Harry whimpered, feeling the lovely pulse receded. Twice more she did this, taunting him with the ultimate pleasure, only to pull him away at the last moment. By the fifth time he was a mess; sweat coated his brow, his armpits and ran down his thighs. His mind was spinning, out of time; all he felt was Hermione's lovely breath on his neck, her long, pale fingers roughly, mechanically pulling pleasure from him. He smelled the vanilla shampoo she wore. "Ugh, Hermione!" he cried, "please please please, I'll do anything, just please let me, please let me go."

He heard Hermione sigh, and shivered her breath flittered over his neck. Below, her hand pumped and twisted, forcing pre-cum from his purpled head. "Fine," she allowed, "I suppose it's been long enough."

If it were possible, Harry felt her pace increase. Her had was ablur.

"Go on then," she said coolly, "cum."

Harry's world exploded. Ethereal lights brightened against his eyes, forcing his eyes closed. He felt her hand compel at least five violent bursts of cum from his cock, which shot with such power that he convulsed with every spurt. His limbs collapsed under him, but Hermione held him up, dependably wringing every drop of ejaculate from his firing cock.

And then, suddenly, it was over, and Hermione let Harry fall backwards, finally collapsing onto the copy of the Gryffindor carpet.

" _Metiretur!_ " he vaguely heard her cast. "Ah, finally."

Lethargically, Harry cracked open one eye. The spark on Hermione's wand was not green this time, but pink.

* * *

**I wrote this on a whim, all in one sitting... In about an hour. Might be rubbish. I also realise that this chapter is shorter than the previous chapter, which in turn is shorter than the first. This is not because of laziness; it's because the first chapter is primarily context and world-building, and involves significant time-skips, while the latter two chapters are merely follow the consequence of the first chapter in a more detailed, narrower fashion.**


	4. Turning Point

Harry weaved around the incoming assortment of spells, careful to keep his side-on dueling form intact. " _Fragmento!_ " he cast, slipping in a few sub-vocalised jinxes immediately thereafter. Silent casting was something he'd only been recently introduced to, but with Hermione's dependable tutoring it became easier every day.

Speaking of Hermione, she slipped to the side of the bone-breaker but, not seeing the jelly-legs jinks he'd cast in its wake, was forced to throw herself to the floor in a messy evasion.

Watching her break her dueling form, Harry grinned triumphantly; she might no more magic than him, by he was still the better fighter. Four stupefys flew from his wand in rapid succession; an inefficient spell, usually that would usually be enough to wind an adult wizard. Harry didn't feel a thing except satisfaction. Hermione was good, but few witches or wizards would be able to recover in time.

" _Protegens ego!_ "

Yet before his eyes, he watched his spells slam into a pavisse-style shield, leaving his sparring partner unharmed. She hadn't had that in her arsenal yesterday; Harry's grin twisted into an ugly frown. Under the ritual, Hermione was learning spells at a ridiculous rate, by far outpacing his own efforts. How long will I still be able to win? It was a troubling thought, and so distracting that he was only vaguely watching when the shield collapsed into her wand. If she overtook him based on sheer spell knowledge then he'd have no claim whatsoever of any competence over her; she'd be better at him at everything.

Or, he decided, thoughtlessly stepping beside a bone-breaker of her own, she'll burn out first. In Charms he'd first noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Ron thought it was merely the OWL homework catching up to her, and worry about Umbridge, but Harry knew better. She'd been borrowing books from the Restricted Section at a prodigious rate, reading them, and teaching him as much as she could. He absently sent another volley of spells her way, his frown turning worried. It's like third year all over again; her tiredness hadn't really appeared in her behaviour yet, but it would, he knew. The ritual could only do so much.

Harry shuddered, almost missing a subtle jinx she'd hidden under a stupefy. He thought - hoped - his part in the ritual would become less embarrassing, less awkward, over time. It hadn't; in fact, his weekly shame had almost gotten worse. Hermione had grown confident with his body, her nurse-like persona becoming almost casual, while he'd grown no more confident in his nudity. Whenever she set eyes on his naked form he could not help but tremble. Tremble, and wonder what she was hiding under her robes.

At least, he decided, she'd never been as rough with him as she had on the second attempt at the ritual. Usually she just stood behind him, leaning over his shoulder so that his ejaculation would not hit her. His _eventual_ ejaculation; that Harry never got used too either. By the fifth 'edge' as she called them, he'd always be a blubbering mess, overstimulated by the touch of her hand, the caress of her breath on his neck, and the grazing of her clothed breasts on his back. Occasionally she'd answer his whimpering in cool, disinterested tones; once, when he'd been especially servile, she'd called him pathetic, and he had to cum with her unpleasant words reverberating around his head. She apologised immediately afterwards of course, but still in that same aloof lilt. Otherwise she'd been professional as she'd first promised.

*****

Until now.

"Clothes off," Hermione practically growled, powering across the foe-common room. From his seat by the fire, Harry saw clearly the fury reflected in her chocolate from eyes, the flush of her pale skin, and her frazzled hair. _So she knows about the Inquisition_ , he thought grimly, _this could not fall on a worse day_. Not for the first time he cursed Umbridge, the Ministry, and their wish to control Hogwarts ever more perfectly. They did not know what they were doing.

"So you've heard then?"

Hermione snapped her gaze from the Vitalitas, still furious. Harry's stomach dropped; he didn't think he'd ever seen her this enraged. Not even when Draco had called her a mudblood. The bags under her eyes had never been sharper.

"Yes," she bit back, "now clothes off!"

Harry almost decided that enough was enough; that his further humiliation was not worth the ritual, or the spells, or the power. Hermione could get along on her own well enough, and he gained relatively less from it; Voldemort be damned. Almost. His eyes flickered to the door, and he almost went to it. Almost; he turned back to Hermione, shivering at the fire in her gaze. He turned his eyes to his shoes and, slowly, slipped them off.

"Faster, we don't have all day."

Harry didn't know why he was quivering, but he was, throwing off his clothes as quick as he could. They landed on the floor, by his feet, and on the chair behind him until he was stark naked, shivering under his best friend's gaze. Like a predator, she watched him, "What, no erection today?" she snapped, striding over to him. Her hand took his cock roughly, stroking it faster than was comfortable in his flaccid state. Uncomfortable, Harry winced loudly. "Hermi-"

"No, I don't have time for complaints. We don't have time for complaints. We've got to get going,"

Determined to get her sample, she only pumped her wrist even more savagely, frowning when she got little reaction. "Come on," she said, not stopping at all, "it's basically engulfed by my hand. Why isn't it getting bigger?"

Harry looked away, blushing. When flaccid, her palm and fingers together did almost cover his member.

"Aha!"

He looked back; she'd finally loosened her grip a bit; and, predictably, he back to grow in her palm. "All you needed was a few choice words," she said with a withering smile. "Let's get going then."

Unfortunately for Harry, 'let's get going' began one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his relatively short life. She jerked her hand up and down his shaft rapidly, giving no allowance to his comfort, to the occasional whimpers he could not suppress. Despite her roughness, despite the twinges of pain when she'd over-stretch foreskin or tug at his exposed glans to brutally, he reached the first edge far, far faster than normal. He could only put it down to the speed of her shuttling fist, which was moving at a blur. After only a minute he felt his legs tense and his testicles draw further into his sack. A rising pleasure shivered through him, sending his hips into a spasm. Almost immediately, Hermione let go. "That was fast," she scoffed. He could no longer see her, but Harry heard plainly the wrath layered within her voice. _Why won't she calm down?_

"Isn't this a little much just for Umbri-" he began, only to be interrupted by Hermione's off hand covering his mouth. What? He shivered, his eyes widening like dinner plates. She'd never done this before... this, which seemed somehow, perversely sexual.

"Shut-up! I can't deal with this right now. Christ, I'm wanking you off-" Harry's cock throbbed; he'd never expected to hear that word come out of her mouth, "-and you don't even have the decency to be quiet!"

She practically screamed the last sentence, and Harry suddenly determined that it was better to let her do what she wanted. Who knew what she'd do with his vulnerable nether regions otherwise? So she did, masturbating him with savage ferocity, pulling his cock around like it was a toy. He reached the second edge with a perverse speed, almost tipping over by the suddenness of Hermione's halt. Unbidden, his hips humped the air, a trail of clear fluid leaking out his slit. For a long moment he thought he might cum; fire seemed to pool in his crotch, and then a sharp pain smacked him right in the testicles.

"No cumming," Hermione bit out angrily. Harry groaned under her hand; she'd slapped him in the balls! It did, however, have the desired effect, and his urge to ejaculate receded beneath the stinging of his balls.

Not for long. She edged him thrice more, sending him into a sort of tunnel vision. _Hermione!_ he tried to say; it came out as mumbling behind her covering hand. Usually she'd have let him cum by now, but she gave no indication of her intention, no soft words to allay him. By now he felt no pain; her shuttling fist had covered his cock in pre-ejaculate, so she whizzed up and down at a blistering pace, revealing then concealing his purple bell-end with every pump.

"Ugh," she complained. He could feel her breath against his neck, coming faster and faster; despite her remonstrating, she was enjoying herself. "Stop slobbering over my hand. It's disgusting. Then again, so is this. You're humping my hand like a dog. I've taught you so much, but you can't muster any self-control? Just a bit?"

Tears pooled in Harry's eyes; yet his cock pulsed, and he knew he was close. He could not help by cry out behind her gagging hand. _Please please please please_. He didn't even know what he was begging for; but he wanted it, whatever it was...

_Please please please please please-_

"You want to cum?" Hermione's voice sounded foreign to his ears, warped by fury, seductive and terrible at once. "That's all you can think about these days, isn't it? Cum cum cum cum. You'd cum your brains out if you had the chance; bugger the wizarding world, bugger us, Harry wants to spurt his big load from his little cock!" She laughed mockingly. Harry felt like putty, like he wasn't there, like a doll for her to manipulate. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Well go ahead then, ejaculate! Cum yourself silly. Splatter your stupid load on the ground, where it'd be wasted if it weren't for me!"

If it were possible, her hand pumped even faster, sending the hairs on the back of his neck upright; _fap fap fap_ went her hand, and Harry spasmed, his legs losing strength, his minds tipping and turning, and pleasure flooded through his veins. He screamed a muffled scream, and would've fallen over if Hermione hadn't held onto him like a puppet, playing on his string. She yanked at his cock, pounding it up and down, and Harry exploded, suddenly all tense again. His mind flew away; cum poured from his prick, then spurted like a muggle water-pistol. Once, twice, three and four times, he humped, gurning like a child, crying out in ecstasy. Hermione did not stop milking him, wringing out every last drop from his over-sensitive penis.

And then it was over, and, as though from a great distance, Harry felt his limbs go limp. Hermione let go, cutting his strings as a puppeteer, and he collapsed onto the floor, resting, exhausted, on the carpet. He closed his eyes. The distant heat of the fire lapped at his face; the warm air caressed his exposed genitals, but he didn't care. It was over. An indeterminate amount of time passed.

"I...I-" As though in the distance, he heard Hermione's voice once more; but something, he mistily thought, was so different about it... "I'm sorry!" Then he felt her bushy hair bury into his naked chest, and her clothed legs intwine with his. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, "for all the things I said, I didn't mean them, I was, just, just so angry!”

Harry opened his eyes. Hermione watched him carefully, as if he might break, her chocolate brown eyes wide and teary. Her cheeks flushed, she licked her lips, so pink, so small, and said, "It's not about Umbridge. Not just about Umbridge and her stupid Inquisitors. I found out how... I found out how Voldemort survived that night. He's made Horcruxes."

* * *

**Aha, you thought this was just another silly 'hardcore' (ish) femdom smut story that we never go anywhere and be quickly abandoned! Well, not quite yet! This note makes a lot less sense on Archive of Our Own.  
**


	5. The Ordeal's Resolutions

Recalling his exposed state, Hermione blushed, conjuring which settled across his lower half. But she did not pull away, though she had the chance, but cuddled closer, her head tucked into his chest, tickling him a bit. Harry felt wet tears drip down his chest.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice muffled, but clearly penitent. "I was cruel- I was- I was, just _so_... angry. It's... it's hopeless."

Feeling her shake and sob against him, Harry frowned; he should be angry himself, he knew, but all he felt was affection. How could he not? He'd been angry for much of the year, with Dumbledore, with the school, with his friends... But in his post-orgasm state, all his worries were washed away, leaving his mind strangely clear. It did feel... good, he admitted, and said as much, "Don't be too down," he jested, ruffling her hair. She glared up at him through curls and teary eyes, but she couldn't keep the relieved smile from her face. Harry thought it was beautiful. "You, er, gave me a really big, er, you know!"

He watched her cheeks redden even more, highlighting the tear-tracks which ran down to her jaw. Then her smile turned teasing. "Oh, so mister Potter likes it rough, does he?"

Now it was his turn to blush. "So," he hastily began, hoping to change the subject, "what's a Horcrux?"

Suddenly, the smile vanished from her face. That, Harry decided, was not a good sign. "A magical... object? I'm not sure exactly how to classify it. An enchantment, I suppose? It's not exactly a..." Her brow furrowed cutely, "It doesn't matter - it's what it does that's important. It's a piece of his soul, torn from him and put into something else. An object; so long as that object exists, he can't die. That's why he turned into a wraith, _that's_ why he needed your blood." Her hand trailed down his bare arm, where she had seen the scar mar his skin. "But he's definitely made more than one, and they could be anywhere. Anywhere, including the bottom of the sea! He's immortal, unkillable. He'll just keep returning."

"How do you know he made more than one?"

"The diary," Hermione answered, "Tom Riddle's diary must've been a Horcrux, and you destroyed it. If that'd been the only one, he would've died right then..."

"... But he hasn't," Harry finished grimly.

By now, his post-orgasm haze was beginning to wear off; and he realised just how close, how affectionate he and Hermione were being. There legs were still intwined, and he could feel her feminine form flush against his, separated only by a thin blanket. His member began to stir. Did she make it this thin on purpose? Harry didn't even know if he wanted to know the answer to that. "Could you turn away?"

Hermione blinked, then giggled, fae-like. "Still embarrassed?" But she did turn away, and Harry hurried to his customary chair where he quickly pulled on his clothes, glad to be dressed once more.

"Can't your book deal with this?" Harry said, pulling his jumper down. "I know it can do more - you've been gushing over Magister for weeks now."

"Well..." Hermione took a long pause to consider his question, growing steadily redder all the time. "It does have a lot of useful rituals... All perverted stuff-" admitting that, she turned as red as a Christmas bauble, "-but nothing to find other people. All the scrying rituals involve finding things connected to the person donating, the, um, base ingredient, not finding others."

"That's a shame. How about something else in the Restricted Section? You must've have read a quarter of it already!"

But Hermione wasn't listening. She was staring at Harry as though she'd never seen him before, a new light in her eyes.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she began haltingly, "but isn't it true that you and... and him are... connected? You're... closer together than other people, perhaps even related?"

A sharp sting of anger bubbled away, and Harry did indeed nearly take it the wrong way, but his rational sense soon took ahold. _It is not our abilities that show what we truly are. It is our choices_. "Yes," he said guardedly.

Hermione frowned so deeply that her eyebrows nearly knitted together. "There is... one ritual that might give us insight as to where he's hidden his Horcruxes - but it's designed to help a man find lost things connected to him... I'm not... Magister included a chapter on spell creation and manipulation but I'm not..."

Harry could already see where this was going. "I trust you, Hermione." He smiled. "You are, after all, the greatest witch of your age, and my best friend."

*****

The next day, during a break in Charms class, he was chatting with Ron about the Chudley Cannons, discussing their hope (or, more truthfully) Ron's hope for their new keeper, when his mood took a tumble of a mountain. Hermione had passed him a note; which, in and of itself, was no cause for concern - she did it fairly often for someone so obsessed with work. He filched it from his cloak pocket, where she'd stealthily dropped it, and read it under the table. 'Don't masturbate,' it said, in Hermione's prim, curly handwriting, 'might need more power for the ritual.' Blushing slightly, he hastily burned it with a quick incendio.

Don't masturbate? Doesn't she know how hard that is? There wasn't even an end date - Hermione could take weeks to come up with the modified ritual, months even... And then the flare of familiar anger, and the growing in his loins, and the fury at his own feelings. This was a form of control, as tight as anything he'd ever experienced, after another fashion. Yet... and yet... he could not help but grow uncomfortably hard in his trousers at the thought. Fortunately, he was well-covered by the table.

It's Hermione, he told himself, she can make me hot with just a look. He imagined her once more, as he often did these days, undoing her cloak, letting it fall away... but then the image changed. Now he saw in the pretend common room, and her hand was clamped over his mouth, and her breath was tickling his ear. He shivered, coming to a realisation; I... I love Hermione. There was no great explosion in his mind, no like he'd expected, just a feeling of strange relief. Or are you saying that just because she wanks you off every week? He bit his lip, unknowingly imitating the subject of his thoughts... Who was just one seat away. He dared not look in her direction, lest he be unable to look away.

"Harry?" Ron said, poking him in the arm annoyingly. "Harrry?"

He could not help but jump, turning to him. "Huh?"

"You were spacin' out their mate." He nodded to the front of the class; Harry turned, and saw the diminutive professor Flitwick clambering up atop the pile of books where he could be seen. "Lesson's startin'," Ron added unnecessarily.

"Oh." But Harry still wasn't thinking about Charms, not matter how much the vanishing spell interested him. He was interested in the girl who'd taught him it ahead of time... The girl who he hoped loved him back. He thought back to that last encounter, where she seemed close to hating him, then the affection thereafter... They say love and hate are bedmates...

*****

The week passed painfully slowly. Every day was yet more excruciating than the last. After the Charms class he'd told himself it'd be simple, that he was a guy used to not getting what he wanted, that it'd be nothing new really... But teenage hormones raged at him, they nagged at him in the bathroom, between classes, and every night. Close contact with Hermione didn't help either; just being close to her now seemed to unbalance him. Ron, thank Merlin, was too dense to notice. Who knew how he'd react?

When Wednesday came Harry awoke eagerly, throwing his covers away. Usually he was stricken by indecision, by embarrassment, knowing what was to come, and some measure of excitement. Now he was vibrating with it; he had full belief in Hermione to work something out, to find a way to find the Horcruxes... But when he bolted down the stairs into the common room, he saw her waiting for him glumly. She shook her head. Harry could've wailed; he was expecting some terribly humiliating ritual, but at least he'd be able to cum...

It took another week entirely before she was ready, and Harry had never felt so relieved in his life. Even when he'd learned that he wasn't going to be expelled paled in comparison to the knowledge - delivered once more by note - that Hermione had found a method that could work. His testicles felt like they were going to burst.

*****

Harry closed the door to the Room of the Requirement with a huff. Sweat was on his brow, and his lungs burned. He was panting; he'd literally ran out of History of Magic - which, notably, Hermione had skipped.

"You're ready then?" He heard Hermione say from further in the room.

He turned to face her. The common room appeared slightly different this time; by the fact that, totally out of place, stood a large, and quite ominous, black plinth in the middle of the room. Hermione still sat in her customary chair.

"Yes, Harry admitted, his enthusiasm effortlessly suppressing any sense of shame, "you've no idea how hard these last few weeks have been,"

Hermione grinned mischievously. "Hard being the operative word, I think."

Now Harry did flush, and hard. "Har har," he said. Still eager, he motioned toward the plinth. "What is it?"

"A neutral base for the ritual," she replied, suddenly professional, "I've carved the necessary runes into the stone."

As she spoke, Harry has paced up to it, noticing the aforementioned rune carved in a large circle around the single edge. Few he recognised, having not taken the correct elective - a choice he often rued. Gingerly he touched the edge. "It's warm," he said, surprised.

"Of course it is," He wasn't looking, but he knew she'd just rolled her eyes. "Or would you prefer to lay on a cold stone?"

Harry stiffened. "Ah." It was human-sized. Suddenly, it all seemed unpleasantly real... "So, how does this work?"

"Methodologically or theoretically?"

"Methodologically."

"It's simple." He heard Hermione stand, and walk beside him. "You take a preparation potion, strip and lay in the circle. I speak a series of spells that light the runes; I join you in the center of the circle, edge you..." Harry couldn't fail to hear the slowing of her speech, the reluctance which was rapidly breaking her professional tone. "... Then, um, you, er, flip your legs over your head, and er, symbolically ejaculate in your own mouth."

Harry's brain immediately short-circuited. "Er, what? Could you repeat that for me again?"

Hermione glared daggers at him. "Don't make me repeat that again. You heard. It's symbolic."

"Symbolic!?"

"Symbolic of you wishing to find what you've lost; the item returning to you, as it were."

"No." Harry said. He did not even wish to think of anything more to say. Words failed him. He span away to leave.

"Wait! Harry, stop, this is serious!"

Harry stopped mid-step. There was real emotion in her voice - desperation, even. "This is not serious," he said roughly, without looking back, "this is silly. This is you making things up to humiliate me."

"I'm not Harry, please stop! It's the full moon, we need to do it now! The self-ejaculation was in the original ritual, I just changed the runes to connect the ritual to the earth so that we could find things further away! Please stop, please!"

Beneath the ice around his heart, Harry faltered. He took a deep, centering breath, holding his rage below. He turned once more, back to Hermione. "You're not making it up?"

Hermione shook her head, nearly in tears. "No, I would never..."

But the things she said before... In anger, he reminded himself, anger lies. But it can also tell the truth... He looked back at the plinth, thinking of Voldemort, thinking of the dreams which had started it all... I'm being silly. What Hermione thinks of me doesn't even really matter. Killing that bastard Voldemort matters.

"Okay then," he said, hating it already, "where's the potion?"

****

Despite the pleasant warmth of the plinth, Harry fidgeted, hugely uncomfortable. Not only because he was spread eagle, buck naked, exposed to his best, and very female, friend. Nor just because he knew his pale skin was bright against the dark stone, revealing every muscle, curve and bone of his slight, skinny body. Not even because his penis had already hardened, sticking out of his groin like a small flagpole. It was also because the plinth was, in fact, uncomfortable. Cushioning charms would adversely affect the ritual, and so his back was flush against the hard black stone.

At least it's smooth, he thought, blushing; Hermione appeared in his view, looming over him, fully clothed. Her face was as flushed as his - flushed with excitement, he could tell. Her eyes gleamed in the fire light. She shrugged off her cloak, just like his imagination, letting it pool by her feet. Harry's cock pulsed, but she took nothing else off. Rather, she stepped forward once more, giggling as she tapped his cock with the tip of her shoe. "Sorry," she added, not sounding at all sorry; the teary-eyed girl was gone, as was her professional persona. "I should take this seriously."

And she did, taking a deep breath and schooling her features. She knelt beside him, taking his shaft in her soft hand. Her fingers wrapped around him, her eyelashes seemed to flutter, and Harry exhaled noisy, feeling his heart begin to race. This was the first time she was in front of him; the first time he could see her face, watch her bite her lip with that familiar expression of deep thought and curiosity. That familiarity, along with the intimacy which they shared, locking eyes, made Harry feel faint. It took barely a minute before he reached the edge, his mind slipping.

But Hermione was wise to it now, she knew his body well; she saw he back arch, felt his hips rut in a familiar rhythm, and heard his breathy, almost feminine moan. "A-a-a," she said, dropping her nurse-like role once more, "there is something I forgot to tell you," she added shamelessly. "You need to want it, okay? For the magic to be robust enough, your intent must be there. You have to want to ejaculate in your mouth."

Harry should've been angry. He tried to be angry, but couldn't muster the rage. Her lovely hand, wrapped snugly around his cock, keeping him just, just off the edge sent his head swimming.

"So," she said soothingly, "I'm going to say some things to you - some triggers, to try and make you convince yourself that you want it. Don't take them personally, okay? This is all for the ritual, remember?"

Harry nodded, feeling his hair rub against the stone below him. "Okay,"

"Okay then." And off she went once more, taking him at once to the second edge. She watched his cock intently, while pleasure wracked through him with a violent burst, and Harry humped against empty air. Hermione said nothing, merely tracing his milky thighs with her fingers as she waited. After a few seconds he felt the urge recede, and she returned her delightful hand to his cock. "That's good," she cooed, "we need eight more edges from you my Harry, then you can make a very special deposit."

Harry's cockhead flared at the reference, and he watched Hermione grin. She locked eyes with him once more, and Harry shuddered, electricity going through him. Mischief glittered in her wide, brown eyes - a sultry, alluring mischief. _She really does like me!_ The thought nearly made him explode; and for a few seconds, Hermione feared he would. His cock leaked excessively, dripping in a long stream down to his testicles. "Sorry Harry," she sing-songed, before giving him a hefty tap on the balls. Harry jumped, but his orgasm had indeed receded again. "Can't let you cum so early, can I?" she explained, pumping him roughly again, sending shots of pleasure up his groin, "you need to spurt your cum in a particular hole, and it's not your belly-button!"

Hermione tittered, tracing his flat stomach with her other hand. It tickled as much as anything, and Harry jumped again, making her only laugh harder.

Thrice more she edged him, until Harry would've needed her support if he'd been standing. As it were, he was drenched in sweat; it pooled on the stone, making him sticky, dirty, and stuck in his messy hair. Clear thought faded from him, as pleasure built. The orgasm in his belly raged, desiring only to get out, release. "Please please please," he began the familiar begging, and Hermione smiled, tugging at his cock with painfully short strokes, focusing on his reddened cockhead. It was not quite enough to even edge him; she was keeping him away from the edge which he knew they both needed.  
Perhaps, he thought vaguely, seeing the delight reflected in her eyes, she enjoys this, not me... But if as long as I let her do this, will she stay with me? He imagined waking up beside her, her eyes taunting him with denied pleasure. But at least he would wake up next to her. That wouldn't be so bad... In the wake of his decision Hermione repositioned her pumping hand, letting him enjoy full strokes once more, sending him right to the edge.

"You're going to cum in your own mouth, you know?" she said matter-of-factly, watching him for any sense of disquiet, and carrying on when she saw none, "So I suppose you'll have to get ready for that." She withdrew for a second, and Harry whined piteously, until she gripped his thighs in her hands and forced his legs up in the air, until his legs were by his head and his torse was framed above him. Between the V of his legs, Hermione's framed face smirked down at him. Harry throbbed, realising she could see everything - including his vulnerable buttocks, and the little hole between them. He saw her gaze flick to it. "Perhaps another day?" she teased, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"For now," her hand, so warm and soft and so Hermione enclosed around his pulsing shaft, "for now you've still got four edges to do before the final edge, when I get to see you erupt down your own throat."

Harry's head was spinning; perhaps it was the blood rushing around his body, perhaps it was her hands on his exposed genitals, or perhaps it was merely his vulnerable position, but he couldn't think of anything better in that moment. Hermione smiled down at him, her smirk turning sugary sweet, and she began again, shuttling her hand ruffly, aiming his cock down, down at his wide-eyed face. His penis, alas, was far too short to reach his lips, but it would be no great difficulty aiming... By the ninth edge Harry was almost beyond thought; she'd pushed him further than ever before. His mind was mush, his thin legs kicked pathetically over his naked body, his muscles convulsed and pulsed to the rhythm of Hermione's hand. She had said something to him, but he hadn't really heard it; his orgasm bubbled within him, pulsing through his body on waves of electricity.

It was all he could think of, until she lightly slapped his balls once more.

He regained just enough cogence to grimace and hear what she told him.

"Finally, the last edge. Between his humiliatingly stretched legs, he watched her lick her lips. "You're going to cum in your mouth now. Imagine it's Cho's mouth," she suggested, "her lovely delicate little features, her pretty mouth wide open for you to use. Imagine it bursting across her tongue!" Harry whined like a dog, thrusting harder; but Hermione kept him right on the edge, her hand now just lightly grasping his reddened cock. "But she's a good girl. I don't think she's been touched. She doesn't deserve your dirty cum splattering all over her face. You should take it instead - after all, what sort of person what let a girl do this to them, hm? A slutty little boy, hungry for cum. Don't you want it?"

Harry gurgled, trying and failing to form words. The orgasm forming in his belly felt like a ocean, a storm about to burst onto him.

"Tell me you want it! Nod, at least."

Without thought, Harry nodded.

"Goooooood boy," Hermione cooed. "Now here it comes, I'm going to let you have your little your orgasm now, and you're going to splatter-" suddenly, she gripped Harry's cock hard once more, and pulled, "your-" his orgasm ballooned within him, a rush of approaching ecstasy, "cum-" he screamed soundlessly, gamely opening his lips wide, "in-your-slutty-little-mouth!" Harry shuddered; his world went white. Vaguely, he felt his legs flail pathetically, and hot spurts of cum leave his engorged cockhead. They showered wetly across his features, much of it emptying straight into his mouth. He convulsed like an animal, grunting and groaning and gurgling, but eventually managed to open his eyes.

Hermione was above him, looking down triumphantly, superiorly. Her hand still pumped, sending ejaculate all over his face and chest. "There we go, good boy, it's all over now."

And then, overloaded by pleasure, Harry fainted.


	6. Close to the End

Light flickered before his eyes like a dying candle, phasing bright and dark and bright again. He saw a shadow leaning over him, a shadow with long, fuzzy hair...

"Hermione?"

"Oh, thank Merlin!" she said, finally leaning back, letting the light wash over him. "I-I thought..."

Harry grimaced, feeling his body awakening with him. Around his waist was draped the now familiar thin brown blanket. He grasped it, pulling it higher, distantly wondering if that small kindness revealed something about how she felt for him... or, a treacherous voice whispered, that she considers me unnatractive. At once he rebuked himself: stupid, she's just showing courtesy to her friend.

Sensation traveled from his stomach to the tips of his fingers, which he flexed, and the tips of his toes, and back into his face. He smacked his lips; his mouth was dry, and tasted rather odd... Then he remembered.

Hermione must have seen him do it. "Sorry," she said softly, "I, er, cleaned you up. I didn't think you'd want to wake up, with, er, you know..."

She trailed off, but Harry did indeed know. Even so, he was too tired to blush, too exhausted to be embarrassed. The glow of post-orgasm still cradled him, no matter where he'd ejaculated. "I blacked out, didn't I?" He thought perhaps he should be embarrassed about that, recalling the Dementors in Third Year, but he failed to muster the emotion.

"Yes, and, and I'm sorry for what I said," said Hermione apologetically, "I just, you know, people can be talked into things when they're, er, and you needed to... for it to work."

She was blushing quite heavily by the time she finished, her breast heaving. Harry looked up at her through tired eyes, at the sweat on her brow sending her skin glistening, at the messy, curly brown hair, at the spark in her chocolate brown eyes. She's beautiful...

But he didn't say that. "So, it worked then?"

"It did," Hermione replied, some of her old smug pride returning. "All you've got to do is put your finger in this liquid." She hefted a runic cauldron, filled halfway with quietly bubbling silvery stuff. Harry peered at it suspiciously. He knew how crazy rituals can be. "What'll it do, exactly?"

Hermione shrugged. "Magister says it'll show the man what he's seraching for. I can come too, don't worry." She flashed him a crooked smile, and Harry decided then and there.

He plunged his hand in the cauldron.

He felt a spark like he was imersed in lemonade, then he felt himself being pulled by a rope, tuggling at his navel. He soared high over Scotland, heading south into England, over moor and mountain, past motorway and city, untill he suddenly stopped. There was a feeling like vertigo, and he saw a golden ring and a black stone centred therein, sequestered in a ragged old shack in the woods. Then he was moving once more, through the Home Counties to London, to what he recognised as Diagon Alley, and into Gringotts. There was a cup of wrought gold, awesome to behold, hidden in a wealthy vault. Then there was a snap, and his bodiless sight zoomed to, strangely enough, Grimmauld Place, where he saw the house elf Kreacher wailing over a locket inscribed with a serpentine S. And then he was powering north once more, and Harry felt relief flowing through him; he was returning, he knew... Yet as he entered the Room of Requirement, he saw not the welcomign Gryffindor common room, but a room of many things, piled in heaps storeys high. There was a diadem, silver and diamond fashioned, beautiful in elegance.

Then, finally, he saw himself; he and Hermione, embraced on the carpeted floor. It warmed his heart, which suddenly skipped a beat. He was not returning to his body, though he willed it so; the vision had not finished with him yet. It pulled him closer, to his forehead, and centred on his scar. The lightning bolt seemed to glow, and Harry screamed. It bled, and he knew, he _knew_.

And then he opened his eyes to Hermione's horrified gaze. But she wasn't looking at him.

She was looking at his scar.

* * *

*****

* * *

The past few days had been terrible, some of the worst of Harry's life - and he wasn't even in immediate danger! Every moment was a test of his mental strength; the Horcrux was never far from his mind. Indeed, it was _literally_ in his mind, so to speak. During classes, lunch and quidditch practice he found himself sufficiently distracted, even diving into his History of Magic textbook to do so... but in his free time, when he was sitting with nothing to do, he could not help but taunt himself with terrible thoughts. Thoughts of Voldemort wresting control of his mind, of the Horcrux coming alive and eating him from within...

And nights, nights were the worst. Alone, in bed, staring at his Gryffindor curtains - _blood red_ , his treacherous mind whispered, Harry could think of nothing but the thing, the monster in his scar. Only when his mind slipped into unconsciousness did he sleep, no matter what he tried. Once, he touched himself, imagining Hermione in a number of lovely positions, only to stop, tuck himself in, and try and drift off to sleep to images of his friend. It didn't work. Slowly, the images faded, and only the scar remained, ever present.

Eventually, even Ron had noticed, stopping outside after a particularly horrible Potions lesson, in which Snape had taken great pleasure in docking as many points as he could from the exhausted Harry. He leant over conspiratorially, as though delivering some great secret, his over-large nose almost touching him. "What's wrong mate?" he whispered. "You look beat."

Harry, in turn, leant away. Ron's breath smelled of his lunch. "I've not been sleeping well," he said with false ease, "just the odd headache."

"It's not... it's not You Know Who, is it?"

Harry shook his head. Voldermort had been rather quite lately, surprisingly so. "No. Just... just a normal headache. I'll take a potion for it, don't worry." He felt his lips curve into a false smile. "I'm fine."

Ron nodded sympathetically. "It's Umbridge, isn't it? She's a bloody nightmare."

"Looks like one too," Harry added weakly, uncomfortable with the subject of the conversation. His scar seemed to throb, but he knew by now it was only his imagination. "I-"

And then he felt it; the button in his pocket, enchanted with a protean charm - a useful spell Hermione had found, to communicate through the vibrations of two linked objects - did, indeed, vibrate. It could only mean one thing; Hermione had found something, as he'd asked her too, and she wanted to see him in the Room of Requirement. Quickly, Harry made his excuses, spunding pathetic even to his sleep-deprived mind, and hurried off toward the seventh floor.

Hermione was waiting, biting her lip in that way she often did, in her favourite chair. The simulacrum of the Gryfinddor common room seemed, well, common to him now, and Harry paced through it without giving it a glance. What happened inside that room... Blushing slightly, he took his customary seat. "You called? It was a pain to get away from Ron - I swear he enjoys gossiping about Umbridge."

Hermione nodded feebly. "I did..." she began apprehensively; and her suspect tone sent a tingle of alarm down Harry's spine. "I, um, have found a way, I think, to seperate his Horcrux from your soul."

Harry felt as though he ought to be smiling in triumph, but he somehow couldn't. Hermione hadn't even tried to answer his small talk. "Seperate? Not destroy?"

"Destruction will come soon after," Hermione added, "a Horcrux cannot survive without a host."

Then, finally, he was hit by the spike of euphoria he had expected, and he managed a wolfish smile. It also made him look at Hermione more keenly; she seemed deathly afraid, not at all happy. She's going to ask me to do something unpleasant again, he thought; he wasn't sure if he ough to blush or quiver in fear, I'll do it, whatever it is. Voldemort must die.

Slowly, he reached over and took her soft hand in his, meeting her big brown eyes. Then seemed to drink him in, widening in surprise. "Hermione," he said gently, "we've gone down this road before with... with the other ritual. It worked; I trust you. Whatever you ask me to do, I'll follow your lead."

As if pained, Hermione suddenly withdrew her hand. "That's it," she said, her voice wavering, "how much do you trust me? You're too trusting, you always leap into danger, you..."

Harry silenced her with a kiss. Her lips brushed against his, gentle and ever so slightly wet - from her nibbling, he vaguely thought - and a subtle frissom of electricty seemed to pass between them. It was not passionate, not at all like how Harry had imaged kissing Hermione for the first time might be, but it was... lovely. Reassurring as much to him as to her, she did not lean away.

"Does that answer your question?" He asked once he'd withdrawn, leaving her stunned in his wake.

Hermione blinked, and her eyes seemed to light up. "Yes," she replied firmly; after the kiss, she seemed almost a different person. Stronger, more like the Hermione Harry knew and loved. "You won't run off in anger then, when I tell you what you need to do - what we need to do?"

He'd barely shaken her head before Hermione continued, "Good," she said crisply, "follow me."

Across the room she took him, to another ritual plinth, as dark and menacing as the last. Different runes were carved around its edge, though, and a potion rested on its surface... Ready, he knew, for him to drink.

"We need the plinth again," Hermione said, in her customary, stuffy, matron-like voice. "This time, we must weaken the bond between your soul and his. The Horcrux siphons a little off your soul; it's bound to you by your life, so the only way to weaken the bond is to bring you close to death."

Harry felt like a bucket of ice had been thrown over his head. All his joy was extinguished in one terrible sentence. "I, er, what?"

"It's safe," Hermione repeated firmly, "it's safe, I know it. I've been doing nothing but looking over this - I've even missed assignments! Professor Mcgonagall was awfully confused!"

To Harry, he felt like he was in a dream world. _Assigments? That's what she's thinking about now?_ Unconsciously, his hand went to his scar, feeling it's slight indentation. It gave him strength; he had promised not to lose his temper. "How... how do you mean to do that without, you know?"

"Killing you?" Hermione added, as though this were an experiment. "Magister already has a way, thankfully. Asphyxiation; it should send your body into a state, believing itself close to death; then, when you're close to fainting, you need to ejaculate."

"A symbolic release?" Harry guessed grimly, feeling like he was already short of air.

"Yes." Hermione held up the potion vial, filled with a liquid coloured murky grey. "You need to drink this... It's like a muggle muscle relaxant, a mind one too, and it'll stop you breathing out your nose for a while."

Harry took the potion with a trembling hand, looking it at as though it were his death. After he drank it, he knew, he'd be putty in Hermione's hand, dazed like muggles who'd had an injection at the dentist. He remembered that from a conversation he'd overhead in primary school. That seemed a long way away now.

 _But if Voldemort lives_ , a voice whispered, _then they'll all be dead, or worse..._

"I'll do it."

* * *

*****

* * *

The plinth was no more comfortable the second time around. Once more he was spread eagled, as naked as the day he was born, pale and slight. The jut of his bony hips seemed harsh against his stomach; and this time, his limbs were tied down solidly. To prevent you from struggling too much, Hermione had said. It was logical - the potion only dampened his senses, it didn't banish them. If it did, the ritual wouldn't work. That didn't make him feel better. The rope was tight against his arms, and tighter around his legs - he could, at least, sit up, but little more.

He'd never felt so trapped, so alone, though he knew Hermione was somewhere behind him, preparing. _What if this ritual is a lie?_ A terrible voice taunted. _What if it's something else?_ Frightened, Harry shook his head. She'd told him what would happen. _Trust her_ , he told himself, closing his eyes, _that's all you can do now_. He thought back to their kiss and was resolved. _She loves me_. His treachorous cock was already erect

So far was he into his thoughts that he didn't hear Hermione approach. "This won't be long," she breathed in his ear. It made him shiver. "No need for edging today."

Then, she sidled up behind him, and Harry gasped, a full-body shiver wracking him. Soft skin brushed against his own - bare skin, entirely bare. Harry looked down, and saw Hermione's firm thighs wrapped around his torso, her delicate feet so close to his throbbing cock. Her skin was slightly tanned, much more so than his, a remanant of long holidays in France. Her calves were soft, but faintly muscled, and Harry felt like he could explode right then and there.

He humped at her foot thoughtlessly, and Hermione giggled. Unfortunately, he could see no more of her, but he could feel her soft breasts, peaked with small nipples, pushing into his back. "I wanted to surprise you," she said, grasping his penis firmly, "this ritual is too delicate even for magically inert clothes."

She jerked him with speed, almost roughly, her thumb more than once brushing over his sensitive cockhead, but Harry nearly thanked her for it. Though her bare skin on his, so tantalisingly close that it sent his imagination wild was lovely, he couldn't bare for her to stretch the torture out. It was, therefore, literally moments before he felt himself near release. Harry tried to warn her, but all he managed was a keening sound, apthetic to his own ears. It made him flush even more.

Hermione slowed her movements; her hand was still dry, no pre-cum having had time to wet it, but still something welled in Harry's stomach, a torrent, a rage. Despite the potion he strained against his bonds in vain, his limbs tensing. His orgasm was close, so, so close, and Hermione kept him right on the edge, on and on and on.

Then she placed her left hand, her off-hand, over his mouth. Harry whinnied like a horse, bucking; his breath would not come from his nostrils, which seemed already lifeless.

 _Like I will be_ , his fears told him, _this is a trick. Hermione's better than you, you know it. You're a fool for agreeing to this._ Even so, his cock throbbed with every breath that ghosted over his ear. Hermione's breath; breath she'd taken from him.

But the panic would not come. That _'s it, submit. Let your life drain away. Whatever Hermione has in store for it, it's better than you'll ever do. It's hers. It's all hers._

Lights played across his eyes; Hermione's hand hammered at his cock, and Harry went limp, arching his back. He sputtered into her hand, spittle flying, and the well burst, sending deep bursts of pleasure up from his groin and into his shadowy mind. Vaguely, he felt his legs buck and quiver, a perverse death spasm. _This is it_ , he thought between pulses of pleasure and rythmic pumping, _this is it_. The last thing he felt was a lock of Hermione's curly hair brush against his neck.

* * *

It took me too long to write this one. Frankly, breath-play isn't my bag... But I did it anyway. In the spirit of the pick'n'mix.


	7. Kinks (spoilers for the smut)

Chapter 1: Bad Dreams and Resolutions - N/A  
Chapter 2: First Attempts - CFNM, Handjob, Embarrassment  
Chapter 3: Success? - CFNM, Handjob, Edging, Embarrassment  
Chapter 4: Turning Point - CFNM, Handjob, Edging, Humiliation, slight SPH and CBT  
Chapter 5: The Ordeal's Resolutions - CFNM, Handjob, Edging, Humiliation, slight SPH, slight CBT and Self-cum-eating  
Chapter 6: Close to the End - CFNM, Handjob, Breath-play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you don't want to be surprised. Also, this other note should be on the previous chapter... I can't get it to disappear. Weird.

**Author's Note:**

> That was a ride, eh? A bit longer this time, and written over a few spare hours.


End file.
